


Always Watching

by Sp00py



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Exhibitionism, Frustration, Masturbation, Other, Self-Harm, bendy’s not actually in this one, ink monster sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Sammy has an obsession.





	Always Watching

His Lord is always watching him.

The cutouts that litter the studio, wasted before as they wallowed in storage, unused thanks to Joey Drew’s mismanagement, are lovingly placed in every corner and hall and level, often accompanied by pentagrams and candles. There’s a ritual to everything.  Ritual is something Sammy knows well. He had his own, pathetic ones before the thing calling itself Bendy entered his life. And now?

Now, his Lord is always watching him.

Sammy knows this and relishes it. He doesn’t question Bendy’s godhood. Bendy is omnipresent in this world of ink and twilight, in every toy, every art sheet, every note Sammy composes. His will pulses behind the walls, puddles on the floor.

It’s overwhelming, at times. The ink, the eyes. The knowledge that Bendy is watching His disciple work. It thrills Sammy as much as it terrifies him, and the two emotions tangle up into a single, new exhilaration.

It brings him to his knees some days, in front of those cutouts. In those circles and angles and flickering candlelight. Sammy has no eyes, himself. He can still see in a way, sense things through the ink that outlines every edge and shades every object to give the illusion of depth. He’s allowed to see this world as it is meant to be seen. But he isn’t like Bendy, he’s weak and limited and trapped.

It makes him hard to think of Bendy seeing him. When he gets caught up in the sensation of a cutout, in the pentagrams he traced reverently, Sammy frees himself from his pants, takes himself into his hand. He isn’t  _ human _ anymore, and even the arousal he feels is deeper, more reverent.

This is worship, not something so boring and base as physical need.

“Oh, my Lord,” Sammy moans, voice low and rough with need. He needs Bendy to see him, needs to drink down His attention like communion. He pumps his fist. His other hand claws at his chest, leaving lines in the ink that quickly fill in again, with only a remnant sting to remind him they were there at all.

He can’t die. Sammy knows this from experience. He’d cut into himself deeper and deeper with a knife, caught up in penance for being so mortal, so desperate for Bendy’s divine attention when He stalked the halls of the studio. All that had spilled was ink, laced through with exquisite pain, all that was exposed was white bone and nothing else. Sammy is nothing else but what Bendy wants, now.

It frustrates him, that he can’t sacrifice himself properly. Sammy would, in a heartbeat, prostrate himself before Bendy, slit his wrists, pull out his innards. He tries, regularly, and on occasion finds knives just laying around near cutouts as though Bendy is encouraging him. Bendy wants him to hurt himself, so he does. He does terrible things to himself in front of those cutouts.

He pumps faster. Claws deeper. Sammy has no knife now, but he has determination.

He wants to do some grand gesture; he simply  _ can’t _ .

“I’m sorry, my Lord. Bendy. I’m sorry,” he gasps, curling in on himself, scratching furiously, hips snapping to meet his own hand. “I’m weak, pathetic. Forgive me, my Lord.”

His body instinctively bows down to the ground in front of the cutout as he punishes himself. Bendy is watching. Sammy wrings out an orgasm at the thought. His savior, his ink-black demon God. This is for Him. This is all Sammy can do. This is his penance.

Ink is splattered across the floor from dripping gashes and his climax. There’s no pleasure in what he’s done, the only pleasure he finds is pleasing Bendy. But there is a sense of release, relief that he’s done  _ something _ . Until the day Bendy personally comes for him again, transforms Sammy into something more, something useful and beloved by Him.

His Lord is always watching him, and Sammy hopes He’s pleased.


End file.
